


Happy Hour

by embersofamber



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Friendship, Humor, Romance, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embersofamber/pseuds/embersofamber
Summary: It's just another night of drinks with friends at The Hanged Man. When things don't go exactly as Hawke planned, it's Varric to the rescue. Prequel to A Taste of Poison.





	Happy Hour

**Author's Note:**

> A prequel to another of my one-shots, A Taste of Poison, but can be read as a stand-alone.

**Happy Hour**

 

* * *

 

Hawke sighed and pawed at her hair, pulling the last of the pins from her bun until the waves fell loose. She sighed in pleasure. It had been a long day of fighting Carta thugs, and she was already half drunk and intending to get drunker still. She weaved across the floor to sit in Varric’s chair while he shouted downstairs for Edwina to bring fresh drinks.

 

She flopped down, then came right back up with a shriek of pain. Varric pounded back into the room with a dagger in his hand to see Hawke moving in a frantic circle, looking over her shoulder. It reminded him of a cat chasing its’ tail. He sheathed his dagger and grabbed her arm.

 

“What the hell, Hawke? You can’t already be soused enough to chase your own ass.” 

 

She stabbed an accusing finger at the offending furniture.

 

“ _Your_ chair stabbed me in the behind. Fix it, Varric.” She promptly turned and presented him with her rump. He took her elbow and urged her to lay across the table so he could get a good look at the thing stuck on her rear. He whistled in concern and she looked back at him, a worried pucker between her brows.

 

“That’s a prickle burr, Hawke. You have to be careful with these things. If you pull it out wrong, it can leave behind thousands of little needles that have to be plucked out one at a time.” He turned to look at his chair, stroking his chin and wondering who he had pissed off enough to leave him such a thoughtful gift.

 

Her jaw tightened angrily. “Get it out, Varric. If I have to take one in the backside meant for you, the least you can do is take it out.”

 

Varric clucked his tongue and went to pull on a pair of thick gloves, muttering under his breath. “Okay, but you might need another drink first.”

 

She complained so loudly, Varric refused to make another attempt until she had downed two additional mugs of ale. Now her complaints were laced with giggles, but Varric tried again to get the stubborn thing out, but it seemed happy to cling to the swell of her bottom. _Smart plant._

 

“Ow, ow, ouch! Maker, Varric! That’s _my_ ass, and I’m rather fond of it. Be more gentle with it. No, NO! Don’t pull it out, I changed my mind. Just leave it in, it feels better when you aren’t moving it in and out. Damn, I thought dwarves were better with their hands.”

 

“I’m _great_ with my hands. You’re the one that won’t be still. Stop fighting it; just embrace the pain. You might even like it.”

 

“Not unless you mix some pleasure in with it, I don’t like straight pain.”

 

Varric growled in frustration when he happened to look up to see Anders standing in the open doorway. His eyes went back and forth between Hawke stretched out on the table, and Varric’s hands resting familiarly on her hind quarters. His expression was shocked, with anger simmering around the edges.

 

“Am I interrupting something?” He asked stiffly. “The door was wide open.”

 

Varric and Hawke shared a look.

 

“Shit,” they muttered in unison, then Varric laughed and walked to the door, urging Anders to enter.

 

“This isn’t what it looks like, Blondie, or sounds like, for that matter. In fact, you’re the exact person we need for this. Hawke sat on a prickle burr, and those things are a real bitch to get out. I’m sure as a healer you have experience, so go to it. I’ll just go get us a round.” 

 

Varric left a confused Anders standing in the middle of the room, and Hawke waggled her fingers at him.

 

“You heard the man, my condition _demands_ that you fondle my ass. Are you going to do your duty or leave me to suffer here?” She snickered when he lifted a brow, his eyes on her flushed cheeks.

 

“Are you, uh, drunk?”

 

She bobbed her head up and down. “Pretty sure. I can still understand everything you say though, so probably not very.” When he hesitated a little longer than she thought he would, her temper surged forth.

 

“Bloody hell, Anders, if I’m too repulsive for you to touch, don’t bother. I’ll do it myself.” She pushed off the table unsteadily, and started moving in a circle again, trying to get a good enough view of where to grab the thing. 

 

Anders grabbed her shoulders and shook her slightly. “Stop it, Hawke, you know you’re not repulsive. This just isn’t a scenario I could have imagined. Now, lay back down like a good little girl and let me see to you.”

 

She glared at him for trotting out his pet name for her, which he only did when he wanted to torment her. He had to know it made her hot. She huffed and turned to lay back across the table, her chin cupped in her palm. His hands were gentle, and she could almost pretend he was touching her because he wanted to, not because he had to.

 

“This thing is really stuck. How did it wind up exactly here?”

 

“It was in Varric’s chair, which I guess means it was meant for him. That’s the last time I’ll sit without looking to see what I’m sitting _on_.”

 

He pulled sharply and she jumped, before shooting him a suggestive look.

 

“Oh, Anders, that hurts so good. Do it again, just a little to the left now. Mhhh.”

 

His eyes flicked to hers, his expression inscrutable before she felt a sharp pinch on her left cheek-- the one without the burr.

 

“Ouch,” she said around her laughter, secretly pleased she had gotten a response to her goading. “I knew you were kinkier than you let on, and you know how to take direction. That’s an added bonus.” She chewed thoughtfully on her thumb, but her breath stopped in surprise when he started rucking her robes up around her hips, and she turned to watch. He smirked at her eager attention on him.

 

“There’s a lot of spines still stuck. I’m afraid they have to be picked out of your bare skin, one at a time. This could take a bit for me to get them all.” He pushed her silky small clothes to one side so he had an unobstructed view of half her bum.

 

“Tease,” she groused under her breath.

 

“Well it’s about damn time you bent her over a table!” Isabela smirked at them from the doorway. “Hawke’s been a real bitch lately, and I think a good smiting is just what she needs to put her right. Well done, Justice, at last.” 

 

Anders sighed and ignored Isabela’s goading, diligently keeping to his task, fingers moving lightly over Hawke’s skin and making her wet, unbeknownst to him. She rested her chin on her fist and looked at Isabela leaning against the door. 

 

“You know I’m never that lucky.”

 

Isabela shook her head and smiled. “You know, Hawke, I could really work wonders for you. I would even invite that brute from the docks I saw you eyeing the other day. The one with the sweaty muscles. I know you prefer men. A good, hard fuck will make a new woman out of you.”

 

Anders couldn’t stop the angry glare he shot Isabela, but she just winked at him in amusement. 

 

“Contrary to what you may think, a good, hard fuck doesn’t solve every problem. Sometimes, it creates them.”

 

“You can bluster behind your cause all you want, Anders, but don’t even try to pretend you don’t get yourself off to thoughts of Hawke, when you know you do. You aren’t fooling anyone, unless it’s yourself.” She sauntered off, tossing a final comment over her shoulder. 

 

“Think about it, Hawke.”

 

Hawke waved half-heartedly toward the door as Isabela walked away. “Thanks, Bela, I will…not,” she muttered quietly, but Anders heard her and fought to keep from smiling.

 

“Maker, what next? I don’t think enough people have seen me in a compromising position tonight. I know! Maybe Fenris should walk in next.” She chuckled but stopped cold when she heard his deep voice.

 

“Did you call me, Hawke?” He took in the scene in an instant, his nostrils flaring angrily, as he jabbed a finger at Anders.

 

“What is _that abomination_ doing to you?” The tension in the room rose instantly, and she rubbed her forehead tiredly.

 

“He’s helping me, Fenris, not molesting me. I got a burr up my ass.” She cackled madly at her own joke, and both men looked at her in concern.

 

Anders patted her back soothingly. “Nearly done now, Hawke, then maybe you should sleep it off.”

 

Fenris clenched and unclenched his fists. “I will be downstairs if you need me, Hawke. You need only call.”

 

“Thanks, Fenris.” 

 

He spun on his heel and left, his back stiff. She pushed her fingers through her hair, regret tasting bitter on her tongue, and started muttering to herself again.

 

“Note to self: don’t _ever_ sleep with another broody elf, they just get perversely possessive after they dump you.”

 

Anders gut clenched with jealously, until he sternly reminded himself he had no right to be. Hawke was still talking, and he strained to catch her words.

 

“…not his fault it would never have worked. He’s just not…who I want…”

 

Varric hurried in with a tray of drinks, and Hawke came out of the half-doze she had fallen into to accept a mug. Varric lifted a brow at her bared backside but refrained from comment as Anders ran his hand lightly across her entire bottom, checking one final time for any missed thorns when his finger grazed her center. Hawke hissed and jerked, and he met her glare with concern.

 

“Did I miss one?”

 

Her voice turned to a menacing purr. “No. In fact, if you do that a few more times, I won’t miss one either. Don’t even try to pretend you’re not aware of what you’re doing to me.”

 

Varric slipped stealthily out the door, pulling it silently closed. Hawke stood upright and faced Anders, her robes falling back around her ankles and moved until they were toe to toe. He didn’t retreat as he usually would, seized by unshakable curiosity to see what would happen next. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit the events of the evening had affected him, including her drunken ramblings.

 

They stood staring at each other, each of them trying to convey entire conversations with a single look. Hawke searched his face carefully, then dropped her gaze and stepped away.

 

“Thank you for your help, Anders. I’m sorry if I was difficult. You don’t deserve my ire, and I hope you’ll forgive me.” She turned to walk away, but he caught her hand, his thumb rubbing against her knuckles while he wondered just exactly what he thought he was doing. Slowly, he lifted her hand and kissed the tops of her fingers.

 

“No apology necessary, Hawke, not between us. Never between us.”

 

She nodded and he released her hand, stepping back.

 

“Are you staying for cards?”

 

He shook his head, suddenly very tired.

 

“No, I’m going to head back to the clinic now that my services are no longer required,” he smiled mischievously, and she smiled back.

 

“Tomwise let me in on a prime location for gathering potion ingredients. I thought you might want to come hunting with me later this week.” There was a question in her voice.

 

“I would, thanks. I’m running pretty low on elfroot.”

 

“Then I’ll come by for you early. Day after tomorrow?” He nodded and they both turned toward the door, surprised to see it closed. They looked at each other.

 

“Varric,” they said together.

 

Anders walked out and she hesitated, then turned back to the room, deciding she was in no mood for company. Varric’s bed seemed to beckon, and she curled up against his thick pillow. It smelled like her friend, which made her feel warm and comfortable.

 

Sometime later, her eyes fluttered open and she realized she really  _was_ warm, a solid weight against her back. She reached behind her in the dim room and felt hair and muscle.

 

“Varric?” she asked sleepily. 

 

“Just me, Hawke. You are sleeping in my bed, just in case you were wondering.” She turned over and could just make out his strong profile.

 

“Should I go? I didn’t mean to inconvenience you, plus Mother must be wondering…”

 

“Relax. I sent a message to Bodahn when you passed out last night, and it’s only a couple more hours ’til dawn. You might as well stay put a little longer, you’ve been sleeping like a rock.”

 

She yawned and stretched her legs out over the side.

 

“Your bed _is_ comfortable, if just a tad small for me.” She paused, a sudden vulnerability making her long for…something. “Varric?”

 

“Hmm?” came his lazy reply.

 

“Can I ask a favor…just for a little while?”

 

“Depends. Is this something I’m likely to object to?”

 

“Maybe. Probably.”

 

He shifted slightly against her.

 

“Ask.”

 

“Can I lay on your chest-- just for a little while? It’s been a long time since a man held me.” 

 

She waited tensely for his reply, expecting a suave but firm rejection, and was surprised when he pulled her into his arms and pressed her head to his heart. She relaxed and nuzzled against the surprisingly soft thatch of hair, and he chuckled, the noise rumbling against her ear.

 

“You humans can never resist the chest hair, can you?” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Let’s just keep this between us though, huh? I don’t want Isabela chasing me any more than she already does, and I certainly don’t want Blondie throwing fireballs my way.”

 

Hawke frowned pensively.

 

“I doubt Anders would care if you shagged me in the middle of Hightown at noon, surrounded by templars, with Sebastian singing the chant.”

 

Varric tilted his head, reminding himself to write that quote down later. He might be able to work part of it into his next installment of Hard In Hightown.

 

“He cares, all right. He’s just damned stubborn. If he can maintain his nonchalance after rubbing on your bare ass for a solid hour last night, he’s a stronger man than I am. Also, he’s a bloody fool.”

 

Varric kissed the top of her hair fondly. He was annoyed more than he ever let on at the way this thing between Anders and Hawke had shaken out over the years. If Blondie didn’t want her, fine, that would probably be for the best. But to lead her on and keep feeding her hope without any intention of taking it further…  _That_ just made him a sadistic bastard in Varric’s eyes. He had to know how he was hurting her.

 

Hawke laughed, surprised by his flattering words. “Why Varric, did you just make a pass at me?”

 

“Why yes, yes, I believe I did. Of course, since there are no witnesses, it never happened, Angel.” 

 

She gasped and turned in his arms to look at him in the dark. “Did you just give me a nickname, Varric, after all these years? And it’s Angel, not Demon?”

 

He shrugged, a little surprised at how that had popped out, but it seemed to be a night full of strange.

 

“I guess that’s just how I see you, Hawke.” Her eyes misted, even though he couldn’t see how his words affected her.

 

“That means a lot to me. More than I can say, really. You know I love you, right? You’re my best friend. I don’t know how I would have managed to survive Kirkwall if I didn’t have you. I mean it.”

 

“Now you’re just getting all mushy on me.”

 

Hawke bit his chest, annoyed by his retreat when they were actually having a conversation devoid of bullshit. He seemed to sense it and sighed in defeat, the silence growing louder by the second. He forced his heart to come out of his mouth for once, even though it made him uncomfortable. For her sake.

 

“I love you too, Angel. You know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, even if I don’t always agree. You can count on me to have your back. You’re sort of like the sister I never had.” He paused dramatically. “Except you’re deadly and beautiful, and I wouldn’t say no to you riding me like a stallion, so, not like a sister at all then.”

 

“Varric!” She laughed until her sides hurt, then lay chuckling quietly in his arms while he stroked her hair in an absent-minded way.

 

“Well now, what’s your next plan of attack with Blondie?”

 

“What makes you think I have one?” She trailed fingers idly across Varric’s chest until her hand came to rest over the steady beat of his heart.

 

“I know your devious, plotting mind, milady. So spill.” She smiled into his chest as acknowledgement.

 

“We’re going to the Wounded Coast to hunt ingredients in two days. I’m only taking him. This is it Varric, I mean it. If nothing comes of it, I’m moving on. I must.”

 

Varric nodded, finding it a good plan. Especially since she was taking him to the middle of nowhere without other people as buffer.

 

“An entire day, with nothing else for you to focus on but him, I almost feel sorry for Blondie.”

 

“One last thing, Varric.”

 

“What’s that, Haw..mmph” 

 

Her lips slid across his mouth, warm and wet, and he responded in kind until she pulled back and he had a minute to process what had just happened. 

 

“That was like…” 

 

“Kissing your sister?” Hawke finished for him. He nodded, and she smiled, satisfied.

 

“Good to know.” She settled herself against his chest and closed her eyes. 

 

“Night, Varric.”

 

“Night, Angel.” 

 

Hawke drifted into a peaceful sleep, comforted by the familiar sound of the dwarf’s quiet snores.

 

* * *

 


End file.
